Stop Getting Mad at Me for Using the Word "Moist"

Moist. You hate this word. It's not your fault. You arrived in the world to learn a language that already had prescribed meanings and standards and cultural associations that had changed and regressed and evolved over trillions of years. You followed along, learned the codes and concepts. You said "please" when you needed someone to pass the butter, and "thank you" when your friend's dad put a burger on your plate. And when someone said the word moist, you learned to screw up your face in disgust and shout out in protest. You learned to say, "Omg!!! Stop. I hate that word. Gross!" You said it loudly and emphatically and everyone around you heard your cry.

But here's the thing: moist is a useful word. There aren't any synonyms that describe exactly what it describes: the quality of having moisture. A good cake isn't damp, or wet. If you haven't overcooked your chicken, it's moist. That's a good thing. When you write about food all day as I do (tiny violin, I know), you can only describe a chicken thigh as juicy so many times. Sometimes, it's gotta be moist. And I want to be able to say it. Out loud.

The argument I’m definitely NOT making is that moist is just a word and that it shouldn’t matter. Language is amazing and has the power to shape the world around us: I learned that from reading Virginia Woolf and also after I finally understood the plot of Arrival. The way words sound isn't secondary or irrelevant to their meaning or feeling. If that were true, poetry and hip hop wouldn't be art forms. And, certain sounds are flat-out unpleasant, I understand that. Maybe I'm even a hypocrite! I have words that I hate: chief among them are "yummy," "tummy," and the atrocity that joins the two, “yummy in my tummy,” which actually gives me goosebumps.

I'm sure you've read that there's science behind this common aversion to the word moist. One in five people feel disgusted by it, according to a study by Oberlin psychology professor Paul Thibodeau. It has certain bodily associations. There's something mildly unpleasant about the "o" and the "i" vowel sounds next to each other and the shape your mouth forms when you say the word (although the study showed that people did not feel aversion to similar-sounding words like hoist, or foist.) I get it, I just don't think that it necessitates the screeching noises and the fleeing from the room that this word can inspire.

This cake is moist! Mmm, sooo moist and delicious.

Photo by Chelsea Kyle, Food Styling by Katherine Sacks

I also have a suspicion that the rampant hatred of this word is socially proscribed. And that's fine. That's largely how words get their meaning. But it's like the group of people that hated this word were so loud about it that it became the norm. Everyone started blindly feeling revulsion. Have you ever thought about why you hate “moist”? Or if you really, truly actually hate it? Maybe you don't.

I have another theory: that people sometimes feign distaste for things to create personality quirks. (An example of this: in seventh grade I started eating my pizza backward—crust first, pointed end last—because I thought it was cute or something. But no. Just stop.) When people loudly exclaim that they absolutely hate feet or that they love Nutella, I'm always a little suspicious. Do you really? Feet are pretty useful! Have you thought about why you hate them? Peanut butter is just as delicious as Nutella. You might be inventing a quirk. And chances are it’s unnecessary: you’re probably already crazy and weird enough.

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Just like you should give food a try before you decide you dislike it, give "moist" a try. It's not so bad. Think of cake! Better yet, eat a lot of cake and every time you take a bite, say the word "moist." Maybe you’ll decide you have a genuine aversion. Totally fine! But maybe the word will actually grow on you. "Yummy," on the other hand, is still a non-starter.